Uncomplicated

By: Dawn Robertson & J. M. Walker

Three days a week I work your everyday nine-to-five. The paperwork is never-ending. The pay is mediocre, and the office drama is simply intolerable. But the other four days a week, I am my own boss. My name is Jennifer Sunshine and I am a Vegas Call Girl.

My clients range from frat boys on spring break to multimillionaire business men with stuffy wives and less than ideal equipment.

I don’t have a daddy-complex or some kind of sob story.

I don’t need the money, but it certainly is nice.

The only thing I crave is the exhilarating feeling I get from being in control of something. Anything.

My life is uncomplicated, simple even.

That was until he bulldozed his way into my life, and everything changed.

Overnight he made me realize how much I truly need him.

Prologue

When people think of call girls, they think of whores. Emotionally ruined little girls with some sort of daddy complex, aching to compensate for something missing in their lives. For a good portion of the girls I have met, this is a pretty on point assumption; but for me, it couldn’t be any further from the truth.

I can’t remember the exact moment I decided I wanted to become a high paid whore, but I think it was around the time I arrived in Vegas for a temporary modeling job.

Truth be told, I am not your usual blonde bombshell, not what most think of when you say call girl. My short, thick frame and natural fiery red hair makes me stand out in a crowd. The Irish that runs through my veins is a fucking curse some days.

But this is the life I have chosen to make for myself. I haven’t been forced, or coerced. I am not a victim, I am a fucking badass business woman.

I am Jenny Sunshine and this is my story.

Chapter OneModesty

Jenny

Everything about my life is modest. My every day clothing covers more than the average woman in Las Vegas, my studio apartment is simple, and the black Jeep Liberty I drive has seen better days. I’ve never been a girl into material possessions. Being raised in the Midwest by God-fearing parents is probably the root of that, and I genuinely appreciate it.

It was Friday morning, my first free day of the week. My typical shift at Dr. Jeffrey’s office ran Tuesday thru Thursday, and that is more than enough for my taste. Call me a prude, or just a flat out bitch, but I just can’t deal with the catty broads that run that place. I have never been the girl with a bunch of girlfriends. If anything, the girls always called me a whore because I was a tom-boy, hanging out with all the guys. Whatever, at least I knew which guys were dogs. And I can still pick those same assholes out of a crowd.

Which brings me to why I don’t date. Have you ever been to Las Vegas? Yeah, it is a tourist city, most people are just passing through, and the men who choose to make a life here have some kind of douchebaggery complex. The pussy is plenty, the alcohol constantly flows, and it doesn’t cost much to get laid. Unless it is my cunt you wanna be inside.

My job got the itch scratched and it filled my bank account. It’s the only thing in my life that doesn’t fall under the description of modest, but I would never tell my parents that.

The phone ringing distracted me from my early morning musings about life. Rolling over and eying the clock, it was only eight in the morning. My mother really needed to start taking into consideration the time difference.

“Momma, you really need to remember the time difference.” I let out a laugh as she gasped on the other end of the line, confirming that once again, she truly forgot.

“I’m so sorry, Jenny, darlin’.” Her country twang flooded though the line.

I miss home. I truly do, but there is nothing to go back to other than my parents. Which simply isn’t enough for me.

“When are you comin’ home to finally make your papa happy? He misses you, and you know we can’t come out there.” Can’t? Not exactly. More like won’t. Something about visiting a place called Sin City never appealed to them.

“Momma, we’ve been through this. I can’t take the time off from work.” The line clicked, signaling an incoming call, and just as my mother started to gossip about all the bumpkins back home I couldn’t give two shits about, I was able to cut her off with a legit reason.